Graf #1 (Hands)

           Tiffany, you have watched me experience many of life’s roller coasters. Looking at my hands, hands that might resemble yours, I can relive memories. I can look at my hand and find each scar telling its own story.  Some are burn marks from cooking, bug bites from fishing, and claw marks from rough-housing with my German shepherd. One time, about five years ago, you gazed down at me as I skimmed down a big, ice-capped, snow-covered hill on a runner sled. When I hit that soft patch, the sudden drop of momentum sent me flying over the sled and right smack into shards of ice from the ice-capped snow. It scarred my left hand on the lower knuckle of my thumb for life.

            These hands hold secrets. They lead the way during the greatest nights of my life, and the worst. They have been used and abused, rested and pampered. Taking a part in illegal activities was what they did best throughout high school; for, they hid behind a mask of innocence. You have to go along to get along. These times became my good ol’ times that I will always remember. You stood over me watching, never judging me for a second. It was these times that I became who I am today. These hands allowed me to find my best friend, Kevin. Through holding, loving, nurturing, calming, cooking, writing, playing, and anything and everything else hands do, we became an unbreakable bond.

            Now, as an adult, I am living life’s grandest moments. You watched and listened as my best friend, boyfriend, and overall the most amazing person I have ever met, gently take my hand and bend down on one knee. Months later, these hands held my precious baby boy for the first time. Since then, my hands have continuously written letter after letter to the man who holds my heart down in boot camp; informing him each and every day about our newborn son. You may be in the heavens, but I make sure that these hands care, nurture, and love this baby – your nephew.